


Reflection

by cunzy4



Series: Caboose's Adventures in Time and Space [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Fluff, Gen, I don't love it but here you go, Panic Attacks, Post Season 15, Wash has issues, but Caboose is there, okay serious PTSD, slight PTSD, written in like half an hour in the dead of night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 22:45:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14295096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cunzy4/pseuds/cunzy4
Summary: Wash has trouble wearing his helmet after nearly dying inside it.Caboose stumbles upon the solution.





	Reflection

**Author's Note:**

> welp, I have a million other fics but inspiration struck, so what are you gonna do.
> 
> Since there's apparently FOUR DAYS until season 16 premieres on RT1st, I gotta get these in now until there's new canon to ignore!!!

Wash sat on the edge of his bunk, helmet in hands, staring intently at his warped reflection in the blank visor. Dr. Grey had finally cleared him for active duty, whatever that meant when there was no war to fight. He was right as rain, good to go, ready for action… as soon as he could bring himself to put his helmet on.

His helmet had gone through some design changes over the years, but it had always held the same meaning to him. Sturdy, bulletproof, dependable; Wash’s helmet had always been there for him. Like a friend wrapped around his head. It had concealed his identity on Sidewinder after the Meta’s death, it had saved his life countless times, and, more recently, it had held him prisoner while he died a slow and agonizing death.

His own armor, as comfortable and familiar to him as his own skin, had frozen around him and trapped him for almost a week. He would never be able to describe the paralyzing terror of his helmet locking him out of its systems, refusing to respond to his commands, leaving him staring out through the visor while he waited miserably for rescue or death.

But it was over now. Locus, of all people, had become their savior and carried Wash off the planet after he had been shot. Wash’s memories of this time were hazy at best, due to the dehydration and blood loss, but he vaguely recalled a worried face with an X-shaped scar sitting by his bed for hours at a time.

He took a deep breath. His helmet was his friend. He’d probably spent more time wearing it than not, at this point. Steeling himself, he pulled it over his head…

_His nose was full of the smell of his decomposing friends. Carolina’s voice kept him conscious, asking him questions and forcing him to respond. His limbs ached fiercely, his stomach twisting with thirst and nausea. This was it. He would die here, staring at the bodies of Alaska and Maryland. He’d never known them well. Now he was all too familiar with them. Sometimes he heard them talking to him, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t real. He wasn’t sure Carolina was real anymore either. The only real thing was his own wheezing breaths, too loud inside his frozen helmet. His unsteady breaths, that ticked away the seconds until…_

Wash ripped off the helmet and threw it across the room. It hit the opposite wall with a _clang_ that brought him back to the present. _I’m not there. I’m here. I’m alive._

Collapsing back onto his bed, Wash let out a bitter sigh. He was going to have to wear his helmet eventually, even if just to stop Sarge from barking at him “you’re leaving your pretty little blond head exposed to snipers! And grenades! And angry raccoons!”

He couldn’t talk to Carolina about this. After recovering in the hospital for all of fourteen minutes, she’d thrown her armor back on without missing a beat. Apparently Wash was the only one who couldn’t look out his visor without seeing nothing but living nightmares. And no matter how much they’d been through together, some part of Wash would always hate to admit weakness to the strongest person he’d ever met.

Wash didn’t know how long he’d been lying on his bunk, staring at the ceiling, when he was interrupted by a loud knocking on the door. The sound persisted as he stood up and crossed the room, opening the door to reveal Caboose with his fist still raised to keep knocking.

“Agent Washingtub!” Caboose shouted before Wash could greet him.

“Uh… hi, Caboose,” Wash said hoarsely. “Do you need something?”

“Uh…” Caboose froze for a good ten seconds. “Yes! I wanted a juice box, but I can’t find Captain Buttercrust and I forgot how to find the food place!”

“Yeah. Okay. Let me just…” Wash turned to grab his helmet by reflex, but flinched halfway through the motion. Caboose, who was usually oblivious to fucking _missiles,_ noticed. Because of course he did.

“Ah- Wash, do you need your face-helmet-thing?”

Wash sighed irritably, trying to cover his moment of panic. “Caboose, for the last time, helmets and faces are not the same thing.”

“Yeaaahh, I’m not too sure about that, because one time, I was not wearing my face-helmet, and then I was wearing a different one, and I couldn’t remember what my other face looked like.”

“Caboose, that doesn’t- whatever. Do you want me to take you to the kitchen?”

“Yes! And then we can have juice boxes!” Caboose said excitedly.

Humming a cheerful tune, Caboose allowed Wash to lead him to the kitchen, with several detours due to Caboose getting distracted by shiny things. Wash ended up taking Caboose’s hand to keep him from wandering off.

Soon enough, the pair found themselves in the mess hall with a juice box and a cup of coffee. Caboose’s tongue stuck out slightly with concentration as he prodded the straw against the top of the box.

Caboose’s helmet sat on the table between them. Wash eyed it like it was a live grenade.

“Your helmet doesn’t have the armor lock protocol, does it?” he remembered suddenly.

Caboose had somehow managed to tie the plastic straw in a knot. “Yeah, I don’t have the armor-lobster-thing. Freckles doesn’t have it too.”

Wash stared at Caboose’s helmet for a long moment while Caboose continued to struggle with his straw, wondering what it would be like to wear armor without the persistent fear that had so recently overtaken him.

“Do you want to try it on?” Caboose offered.

“Wha- wear _your_ helmet?” Wash was taken aback. People didn’t loan out armor pieces. It was a protocol violation, compromised security, and it was just _wrong._ Like wearing someone else’s underwear. But Caboose was holding out the helmet with an expectant look on his face.

Out of curiosity, or desperation, or the temporary insanity that Caboose’s presence caused, Wash took the helmet.

The inside of Caboose’s helmet was… different. Very different to his own armor. The visor was shaped differently, for one, and smiley face stickers were plastered along the inside. A series of automated reminders scrolled along the bottom of the HUD screen: _make sure you brush your teeth...take Freckles for a walk...soap is not for eating…_

Wash waited for the panic to overtake him, but it didn’t happen. Wearing Caboose’s helmet was an experience so unlike his own, it didn’t trigger a flashback. Although the lingering smell of Caboose’s shampoo and the background music playing inside the earpiece created the odd feeling that Wash had somehow stepped inside Caboose’s brain rather than his helmet.

Caboose had evidently given up on the straw and began sucking the juice straight from the carton. Wash silently passed him a napkin.

“Thanks, Wash!” Caboose grinned, then gasped. “Oh! Do you want to wear my face-helmet to your play date with Principal Kimball? She will think that you are me and it will be so funny!”

Wash actually chuckled out loud. Then he seriously considered the idea. Looking at the world through this helmet, it didn’t seem nearly as constricting and suffocating as his own had become. It was as though he was seeing the world through Caboose’s eyes, and all its sharp edges had softened just slightly.

Wash could get used to this. And maybe, soon enough, his own helmet would begin to feel like home again.

“You know what, Caboose?” he said. “I think I will.”


End file.
